


A Night Out

by nickelmd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, boys being dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23361454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelmd/pseuds/nickelmd
Summary: The draft was called "sex spell fic" so the label was, previously, on the tin.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 201





	A Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> This fic still needs some work, but I finished it pre-apocalypse and I'm having a hard time figuring out how to go back to it and anyway we probably need all the fic we can get right now.
> 
> Thank you to VioletHaze for being the best beta. Even though it still needs work, it's better because of her.
> 
> (also I have the vague suspicion that I reused a piece of dialogue from one of my other fics, but I'm not going looking, so we'll just all have to live with it)

Throughout the years, Cas has had occasion to discover the many different ways Dean Winchester enjoys a night out. Some of those ways, Cas likes a lot. Some, he likes less. When tonight begins, it seems like the type of night out Dean has favored lately, a companionable evening with no ulterior motives. Cas likes these nights best of all. Dean drives, Sam sits shotgun, and Cas enjoys his usual spot in the backseat, where he can observe Dean's simple pleasure in driving, and soak in the easy camaraderie between them all. If Dean and Sam indulge too much, Cas will drive home. In those instances, Dean usually takes the passenger seat and micro-manages Cas’ driving, while Sam stretches out in the back and falls asleep. As much as Cas enjoys Sam's company, he likes the stolen moments with Dean just as much. Sometimes Dean drinks, and drinks some more, until he becomes loose-limbed and open in a way that culminates in Dean eventually abandoning Cas and Sam early with an admonishment not to wait up. Cas likes these evenings least of all.

As the evening progresses, Cas spots Dean stopped on his way back to their table by a small brunette. She’s pretty in a way that Cas has come to associate with “Dean’s type.” She’s smiling and has a hand on his chest. Cas contemplates the morality of striking an innocent with leprosy. In spite of the fact that he was in the restroom, not at the bar, Dean returns to the table looking a little glassy-eyed. He joins back into the conversation easily and Cas soon thinks he imagined the earlier change.

Later, Dean heads to the bar to get them all fresh beers. Sam is telling a story about Eileen’s latest hunt and Cas finds it interesting, he swears he does, but his eyes slide over to Dean anyway. Dean is standing curved over the same brunette from earlier, obviously listening with interest at something she's saying. Cas narrows his eyes. It looks like Dean is well on his way to securing alternate evening plans. Cas glances away, but still hears Dean's full-throated laugh a moment later. When Dean comes swaggering back from the bar with three beers, but looking as if he snuck in a row of shots while they weren't looking, Cas tries to smother his disappointment. Cas would be less distressed by Dean’s change in plans if it didn’t feel like Dean drank to excess for that express purpose.

Dean sets the beers on the table and lands in the seat next to Cas with a thump. He lays his hand on Cas' shoulder. "Jesus, is it hot in here?" Dean's hand squeezes absently at Cas' shoulder before Dean removes it to yank at the neck of his t-shirt. Cas watches with fascination as Dean uses both hands to rub over his face and into his hair. Cas always finds Dean compelling, but there's something novel in his movements now, as if his over-indulgence at the bar has left him stripped open and vulnerable in a way Cas rarely sees. Cas assumes Dean is waiting a polite amount of time before disappearing into the night with his conquest. He knows it's irrational, but Cas is jealous. As much as he hates that Dean only seems to open up on nights when he over-indulges, he wants to be greedy and keep this version of Dean for himself. It doesn’t feel fair that he spends all day with one version of Dean, but never gets to enjoy the other.

"It's not hot, Dean. You're just plastered," Sam says with a laugh. 

"What? I've had 2 beers, Sammy. You know that isn't even enough to get me buzzed." Dean tugs his jacket off. "I wish I could take this off," Dean says pulling at his flannel, “but I've got three knives squirreled away that I don't really want off my body." Dean leans toward Cas, "You know what I mean?"

Cas' eyes narrow in confusion. He does know that Dean generally has several weapons within easy reach at all times, but he doesn’t understand why it suddenly sounds like an innuendo. Before he can respond, he's distracted by Dean's hand on his thigh and Dean's face crinkled up in a smile. He tries again, but Dean's hand smoothes up and down his thigh a few times, taking all of his thought processes offline, only rebooting once Dean leans back in his chair taking the offending hand with him. Cas shakes his head slightly. "Are you ok, Dean?"

"Hmmm?" Dean asks, head tipped back, eyes closed. "Yeah, just hot. Stuffy in here. Feel a little, uh, I don't know, just hot. I'm fine."

Cas doesn't feel temperature the way Sam and Dean do, but he knows from casual observation that the bar is a comfortable temperature. Cas reaches over to put his hand on Dean's neck, testing. Dean hums quietly and says, "Buy me a drink first, buddy," but he doesn't open his eyes. It's faint, but there's a trace of magic on Dean's skin.

Cas meets Sam's eyes across the table and mouths the word "magic." Cas begins to scan the bar carefully, looking for anything amiss. "Cas, look at me," Sam says quietly. 

"Sam, I think--"

"I know. Something's up. But you glaring at every person in this bar like they just roofied your boyfriend is not going to help us figure it out." 

Cas rumbles in frustration and waits for Dean to respond angrily, but Dean just snorts and repeats "roofied your boyfriend" in an imitation of Sam's voice. Cas takes a deep breath. "What do you suggest?"

Dean finally opens his eyes and sits forward, "Guys, this is stupid. I'm fine." His eyes light up as he spots an open pool table. He stands up. "Hey, Cas, wanna go play some pool?"

"I don't think this is the time--" Cas starts. He stands up to prevent Dean from leaving the table.

"No, Cas, do it. You keep an eye on Dean and I'll keep an eye on who might be watching Dean." 

"With this face? Who isn't gonna be watching me?" He elbows Cas playfully in the ribs. Cas privately agrees with the sentiment, but, nevertheless, rolls his eyes and gestures toward the pool table. Dean walks past him, but Cas leans down to whisper to Sam, "There was a woman. Small, brunette. Dean's been talking to her all evening, maybe she noticed something." Sam raises his eyebrows and Cas feels an odd flush at his scrutiny. There's nothing surprising about Cas keeping an eye on their surroundings. Given the life they lead, it's just practical. After a few paces, Dean stops and waits for Cas to step alongside him. Dean's hand comes to rest low on Cas' back as he leans in close to say, "Aren't you hot, man? You should take this off." Dean punctuates the statement with a slow swipe up and down Cas' back.

Cas does not, in fact, feel particularly warm, but he shrugs out of the coat and throws it over a chair near the open table. He is rewarded by a friendly smile and Dean stepping in front of him. Dean's hands slip under his suit jacket at the shoulders and push gently. "This too," he says. Dean's palms feel hot and solid, pressing down his back and arms moving the coat off with them. Cas is too surprised to protest. The jacket is pushed halfway off before Cas is able to react. He finishes taking off his jacket and turns away from Dean to lay it with his trench coat. When he turns around, Dean is standing closer. Cas has the ridiculous urge to back up, but there's a table in the way. "Now these," Dean says as he plucks at Cas' shirt. For an alarming moment, Cas thinks Dean expects him to take off his shirt, but Dean just grabs his wrist and unbuttons the cuff.

"Dean, I don't--," Cas starts, but Dean smiles up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. Dean's tongue peeks out to wet his lips and Cas forgets what he was saying.

"Trust me," Dean says. The press of his fingers over Cas' forearm is distracting and distressing. Dean's attentions are a crowbar prying open a box Cas has kept closed by stubbornness alone. Dean, however, seems unaware of the turmoil he's causing. He just keeps folding and smiling until one sleeve is pressed up just below his elbow. Dean's grip slides down his bare forearm before letting go and grabbing the other arm. The entire process is interminable. Cas keeps his face carefully blank while arousal and anger swim through his body. How dare he, Cas thinks, does he have any idea what he’s doing? When Dean finishes, his eyes drift down and back up Cas' body. With a slow, satisfied smile on his lips, Dean says, "Yeah. That's better."

Dean finally steps away, busying himself with racks and balls, while Cas scans the faces around them searching for a potential threat. Dean's hand on his arm draws his attention back to the game. "Hey, I'm ready to break," Dean says pulling Cas closer to the table. 

"OK," Cas says, but it must come out as a question.

"Normally you, uh," Dean licks his lips nervously and starts over, "I thought you might want to watch, that's all." Cas furrows his brow. It's true, he does enjoy watching Dean play pool, but the sudden knowledge that Dean is aware of that is uncomfortable and unwelcome. Dean tracks the micro-expressions on his face. Whatever he sees has him sliding his hand up and down Cas' arm in comforting strokes, "Come on, man, you know I love showing off. What fun is that if no one's watching?" Cas lets himself be manhandled into position before Dean lets go to line up his break. 

Cas has Dean's permission, and Sam's explicit instruction, to watch, so he does. The lines of Dean's body are less tense than usual but just as appealing. In spite of the fact that Dean normally favors a straightforward break, he leans over and repositions himself several times, arms flexing noticeably, before finally pulling the cue back and thrusting it forward in a clean motion. The knot breaks apart easily, sending individual balls careening around the table. Dean stands slowly. He drags his eyes over the balls toward Cas and smiles. "How was that?" 

Cas thinks "beautiful" isn't an answer Dean would appreciate, so he glances at the table and says, "None of the balls went in." 

Dean pulls a corner of his mouth up into a small smile and hands Cas his cue. "I guess it's your turn, then."

Cas takes the cue. Everything about Dean is more distracting than usual. He needs to focus on who might be responsible for whatever is happening with Dean. Cas looks over the table just enough to pick a shot. He leans forward over the table, but before he can line up the shot, Dean is at his elbow. "You gonna go for that one?"

"I don't see why not."

"Look, man," Dean bumps him down the table with his hip, "if you shoot this one, it'll leave me without a clean shot after." 

Cas rolls his eyes, "When have you needed a clean shot?" Dean preens. His body is a wall of heat against Cas' right side. Cas turns toward him. "How are you feeling? Are you still hot?"

"You think I got a fever, doc? Maybe you should check." Dean says it like he's joking, but he doesn't move away. Cas does, in fact, want to check, but it's unlike Dean to invite that kind of intrusion into his personal space, especially when compounded by the appearance of vulnerability. Cas contents himself with leaning in to search Dean's face. Dean's pupils are marginally dilated, his cheeks flushed, his lips, impossibly, a more lush pink than usual, but he doesn't seem to be in immediate danger. Cas nods to himself and steps back to make the shot Dean has pointed out. He hears a shaky exhale from Dean, but when he looks up Dean is observing the placement of Cas' hands on the stick. He bristles for a correction that never comes.

Cas sees the woman from the bar slide up behind Dean. She gets his attention with a familiar hand on Dean's shoulder. Cas is pleased, in a petty way, that he has the excuse of danger, to discourage Dean's pursuit of earthly pleasures tonight. Dean smiles at her in a friendly way but turns his body to include Cas in their conversation. In spite of Dean's attempt, she only has eyes for Dean. "You seem real good at this," she says, running her hand over the pool table in a way Cas suspects is supposed to be seductive. "You wanna teach a girl how to play?" 

"Normally, I'm all about sharing my love for the game, but," Dean slings his arm around Cas' shoulder and pulls him in tight to his side, "my buddy and I are playing." Dean's body is radiating heat that Cas can feel even through the flannel he’s still wearing. 

The young woman spares a glance in Cas’ direction, dismissing him immediately. She presses closer to Dean and looks up with a pout on her lips. "Aw, but, I was counting on your help." She punctuates the last word with a hand to Dean's chest. Cas has a hand on her wrist before he can think clearly. Skin to skin with her, Cas feels the sharp jolt of magic passing through her. Dean inhales sharply and pulls Cas more tightly against him. 

Cas tightens his grip, "What did you do?" 

He finally has her full attention. She yanks at his hand, but Cas is immovable. She looks up at him speculatively, "What did I do? I want to know what you did." 

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you put some kind of protective magic on him? He ought to be horny enough to hump me on this pool table after what I've done, but he wants to play pool with you instead? Or," she glances thoughtfully at Dean and back to Cas "is it not pool that he wants--" 

Dean breaks his silence with a sharp, "Hey. Shut the fuck up.” Dean removes his arm from around Cas and scrubs at his face. “I should have fucking known.” He leans menacingly toward her, “Fix this shit, now."

“Look, baby, I’m right here. If you want to fix it, you know what we need to do.” 

Cas tightens his grip carefully, reminding himself of the fragility of human bones. Her face goes from a speculative frown to a smirk to a picture of fear. She winks once and looks around wildly screaming, "DON'T TOUCH ME! LET ME GO!" 

Cas is so surprised he drops her wrist. She sprints away from them, knocking into tables as she goes. Cas shouts to Sam, but Sam is already in pursuit. Cas turns to look at Dean who is visibly shaking. "Dean, are you ok?" Cas asks. Dean pulls him into a tight hug. Dean's nose is at his neck and his hands are splayed wide on his back. "Dean, please, tell me what's wrong." 

"Jesus, Cas," Dean says while pressing his nose up and down Cas' neck. "Please."

"What? Dean, what do you need?" Cas asks trying to push Dean back to get a better look and judge what is wrong. Dean clings too tightly for Cas to put any distance between them.

"So. Fucking. Hot." Dean pants against Cas' neck. 

Cas makes an effort to slip an arm out to test Dean's forehead, "Are you still getting warmer?"

"Not me, you idiot," Dean bites out.

From some distant part of his mind, Cas can feel panic setting in. Dean's face is mashed against his neck and his arms are locked tight around Cas' back. The deluge of unfamiliar sensations is turning Cas' brain inside out when he needs to think. "Dean, I'm fine. Please, tell me what you need."

"FUCK," Dean says and peels himself deliberately off of Cas. He steps back, holding one hand out between them as if holding Cas away from himself. "It's fine. I'm fine." Cas' reaches two fingers out to Dean's forehead, desperate to try to locate what is wrong, but Dean flinches back. "Maybe don't touch me, if you don't want," Dean gestures vaguely between them in a wholly unsatisfying way, "that."

"Dean, I need to know what's wrong," Cas presses, anxiety creeping into his voice.

"She told you. She doused me with some fucking horny spell hoping to get into my pants. But, uh, I guess, she underestimated my willpower."

"Wait, she...she was going to..." Cas grabs Dean's shoulders, and Dean closes his eyes, shuddering. "I would never let that happen." 

Dean's eyes stay closed when he replies, "Uh-huh. Thanks, buddy. Could you, uh, let go..."

Cas drops his arms immediately. "Does it hurt when I touch you?"

Dean blows out a breath and opens his eyes one at a time, "Yeah, let's go with that. C'mon, let's see if Sammy caught up with her. We need to figure out what's gonna happen if I don't get my rocks off."

They skid to a halt outside where Sam has her pinned, both arms twisted up behind her back. "--I don't know. This has never happened before."

"You mean no one's ever resisted you before?" Sam asks.

She rolls her eyes. "It's not a matter of resisting me. The spell's not about me at all. I just make sure I'm the best option once it hits."

"What--you just horny someone up and then throw yourself in front of them?" Sam asks.

"Basically. The spell makes you horny, and you keep getting hornier until you bang the most bangable person in your vicinity. POOF, everyone's happy. Except, in spite of some excellent flirting early in the evening, your boy there obviously has someone else in mind." She smirks knowingly in Dean's direction and Cas can't help the look he throws back into the bar wondering who else Dean had interacted with over the course of the evening.

Dean steps closer to the woman in Sam's grasp. "What happens if I don't bang it out?"

"I don't know." 

"What if I deal with it myself?"

"That doesn't satisfy the spell requirements."

"Jesus. Fuck." Dean bangs on the nearest car, leaving an unfortunate dent. 

She glances over at Cas like she knows he’s thinking of ways to murder her if anything happens to Dean. "I don't know why you don't just take care of it." She says, half to Dean, half to Cas.

Dean looks between her and Cas before he sticks a finger in her face. "You shut the fuck up." He paces around Sam without looking at Cas. "Is it going to kill me?"

She visibly slumps in Sam's arms. "I don't know."

Dean wipes at his forehead and starts unbuttoning the flannel he's wearing. "Alright, Sam. Let her go." He pulls off the shirt and wipes down his neck before throwing it on the ground. An ivory-handled knife sticks out of the back of Dean's pants.

"What? No. Dean. We've got to make her fix it." Sam tightens his hold.

Dean stops pacing to look in her eyes, "Do you know how to fix it?" 

"No. It's not...I've never had an issue before! I wasn't trying to hurt anyone!"

"Let her go. I gotta," he gestures toward the Impala in the distance.

Sam turns to Cas, "What do you think?"

"I think your brother doesn't want you to hurt her. But," he turns to address the woman, "if anything happens to Dean, I will find you, and I will kill you."

"If you're so worried about it, just take care of it!" 

Sam lifts her up slightly by her arms, "How can we take care of it?"

"Ugh, not you. Gross. Dreamy McForearms over here has to do it." 

Cas glances down curiously to where Dean had rolled up his sleeves earlier in the evening. Cas growls in frustration. "You haven't given us any information on how to help." 

She strains her head to look back at Sam and then over to Cas. "Oh. Ok. Um. It's not really my place--I mean, I'm a witch, but I'm not gonna, uh, all I'm gonna say is Dean's already figured it out, so, maybe ask him what he needs."

Sam drops her arms with a slight push. He strides off to the Impala without a backward glance. She stands there shaking out her arms and rubbing at her wrists. Cas pauses before following Sam, "I meant what I said before. If he dies, I will find you." 

"Maybe you should stop threatening me and go figure out what you're willing to do about it then."

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

"I'm not the one who needs to hear that."

Cas leaves her standing there.

When he reaches the Impala, Dean's in the backseat and Sam's behind the wheel. Concern for Dean drives him toward the back door. He opens it up on Dean laid out along the seat, visibly trembling. "Uh uh. Front seat for you, Cas," Dean says without opening his eyes.

Cas starts "Dean, you need--" at the same time that Sam says, "Why won't you let us help!"

"Oh my god. How can you both be so fucking clueless?" Cas watches in fascination as Dean's palm presses subtly against his crotch. Dean lets out a shaky moan.

"Dean," Cas can't control the grit in his voice. "Please let me help."

Dean opens his eyes, catching Cas with his eyes still pinned to the movement of his palm on his jeans. "Fuck." Dean slams his head back against the side of the door, palm pressing harder. "Ok. Sam. Out of the car. Cas, in the front seat." Cas slams the back door and moves around to the front passenger door.

"What? No," he hears Sam say.

Cas slides into the front seat. 

"Sammy, I am doing you a favor here. I promise. I gotta, I gotta talk to Cas. Just give me five minutes. Please."

Sam narrows his eyes at both of them before stepping out and slamming the door behind him. Cas watches him walk toward a car parked across from the Impala and sit on the bumper. Cas turns in the seat to face Dean, eyes drawn downward again. Dean has one arm up gripping the back of the seat behind him and one arm down, hand tightening on the seat below. Where Dean's hand was, Cas can see Dean's dick straining under his clothes. His mouth feels dry.

"Cas," Dean says, drawing Cas' eyes back up to his face. "I didn't want to fuck that witch." 

"I know, Dean. She explained that part," Cas replies. 

"Oh, shit. Why the fuck is this so hard?" Dean closes his eyes briefly and smiles. "Ha, hard. Get it?" He opens his eyes and looks at Cas expectantly. 

In spite of the fact that Dean is breathtaking in his desperation, Cas turns his mouth down, "Dean."

"Ok, ok, fine. When the spell hit, I didn't want to fuck her, because...I...there was someone else there I wanted to fuck." Dean tilts his head like he's asking Cas to have an answer to what is clearly not a question.

"Do you...are you asking me to go find her?" Cas asks cautiously with a sour taste in his mouth.

"Holy, fucking, shit. Wow. I mean, wow, Cas."

Cas can feel himself cracking from the stresses of the evening. He can still feel the phantom pressure of Dean's fingers on his forearm and his nose pressed against his neck and he wishes very much that Dean would just tell him what to do. He slams open the door and hears a muffled, distressed cry of “Cas" from Dean. He strides around the car and opens the back door. Dean's foot falls out. Cas pushes his legs off the seat and takes the space for himself. Dean rearranges himself as far from Cas as he can manage. "Dean Winchester--just tell me what you need." He slams his hand onto the back of the front seat and pins Dean with a glare. "Use small words until I understand it." Dean's breath has sped up. He's pressed against the seat with his eyes closed. "Dean, look at me." 

Dean takes a deep breath, then another. He opens his eyes. For one moment everything is still. Then, into that stillness Dean says, "Fuck it." Cas opens his mouth to protest, but then Dean is suddenly right there. "Cas," Dean says directly into Cas' open mouth. Dean's weight is draped over his chest. Dean presses kisses against the side of his mouth, then his jaw, then his neck. Cas strains to think under the onslaught. He turns his head involuntarily to make space for Dean to work. Dean makes a small noise and quickly takes advantage. 

When Cas looks up, Sam is standing frozen in indecision beyond the windshield of the Impala. "Dean," Cas tries to protest, but it comes out on a long whine as Dean moves one foot into the footwell to gain the leverage to more satisfactorily line their bodies up. "Dean, please."

"Yeah, babe?" Dean asks, sliding his hips just so. Cas can't stop the responding jerk of his own hips. Whether his body is responding to the feel of Dean hard and wanting over him, or to the term of endearment Cas is uncertain. "Yeah, just like that," Dean moans into Cas' collarbone, "but, c'mon, touch me, man, I need--" Dean's hips have taken on a distinct rhythm. His forehead is resting still on Cas' shoulder. "Something, Cas, anything." 

Cas unwraps his fingers from the seats he's been gripping to bring his hands down to Dean's hips. His hands are swept along in Dean's movements. Dean sighs and turns his head to place a surprisingly chaste kiss to the spot just beneath his ear. "Yeah, that feels good," Dean slurs into his skin. 

Cas is supposed to stop this, he knows. There's a reason. A good one. More than one, he's sure. He just can't seem to remember what they are. His eyes are closed again. He's not sure when that happened. He opens his eyes to search for a distraction, to give himself a moment to think clearly. He glances around and is unpleasantly reminded why this isn't a good idea.

"Dean, wait!" Cas says, while his traitorous hands do nothing to stop Dean's movements.

"Can't," Dean pants out with effort, every line of his body tight with strain as he moves. "M sorry, Cas." 

"No, Dean, it's not--I want...It's just..." Dean's body locks up tight, pressed hard against Cas from the waist down, with his torso arched and head thrown back. He's so beautiful, Cas thinks, watching the long line of Dean's throat as he rides a final wave of pleasure. The final piece of his sentence comes out without thought, "your brother."

Dean collapses on top of him, energy abruptly drained. "Your pillow talk sucks, dude." 

Out of the window, Cas sees Sam, his back turned to the car, and heaves a sigh of relief. He brings a hand up to Dean's hair and smoothes it down. "How do you feel?" 

"Tired, still hot, better, but," Dean pauses, "I don't know how to explain it. Kind of itchy. Prolly, cause you haven't, uh," Dean looks down meaningfully. Cas is aware of his erection pressed firmly between their bodies, but it feels unimportant next to the feel of Dean relaxed and heavy on his chest.

"You don't have to."

Dean pushes up enough to look into Cas' face. "First of all, I do, literally, have to, but also, you know that I, uh, want to, right?"

Cas sucks in a deep breath and tries to keep his face blank. His surprise must show anyway. Dean heaves a sigh and lays his head back down. "Ok, actual words. Right. Remember when I said it didn't work because there was already someone in that bar that I wanted to fuck?"

Cas makes sure his voice is steady before he replies, "Yes."

"Well, that someone was you, Cas. It's been you for a long time. And I get that, for you, this, maybe it was just about saving me. Again. And if it was, ok, I get it. And I appreciate it. But, for me, this may not have been the way I was hoping to have this conversation, but that doesn't make it less true."

Somewhere in the course of Dean's confession, Cas' fingers have found their way into Dean's hair. Experimentally, he threads his fingers more tightly into the strands and strokes. Dean melts further into Cas' body. "I--I didn't know," Cas says, varying the pressure and cataloging Dean's reactions.

"Well, yeah, that was kind of the point," Dean slurs easily.

"Why?" 

"Hmm. John Winchester. Internalized homophobia. Not wanting to fuck up the one few good thing in my life. Take your pick."

Cas tugs Dean's hair gently to urge his face up. He lets himself look. It's not like he's never looked at Dean, it sometimes feels like he spends all of his time looking at Dean, but he's never done it with permission before. Stolen glances and stubborn staring matches make a poor substitute for just looking because you want to, and you're allowed. Dean's eyes are drooping and there's a loose smile on his face that Cas wishes he could see more often. Cas readjusts enough to cradle Dean's face in both hands. "If you're asking me to pick, I pick you."

"Yeah?" Cas nods. "Cool." 

Cas draws his face in close and leans in to press his lips gently against Dean's. Dean makes a noise and shifts his hips enough to remind Cas that Dean is still fully pressed against his dick. Cas takes a few moments to enjoy the feel of Dean's mouth before pulling away. "Dean."

"Ugh. What, now? Please."

"Your brother."

"Dude. You gotta stop mentioning Sammy while my dick is hard. If I weren't on supernatural viagra right now that would be a total boner killer."

Cas huffs a laugh and says, "Yes, well, I don't particularly enjoy watching your brother in this situation either. Ideally, we tell him you are going to be fine and you and I find a better place to finish this. Will you be ok? Can you wait that long?"

Dean cranes his neck to look out the window. He drops his head and groans, "I am never going to hear the fucking end of this."

"I think your brother will be relieved you are going to be ok. Should I retrieve him?"

"Yeah. Yeah. But you have to handle the details, I ain't got that kind of higher processing power at the moment." Cas dislodges Dean enough to get his hand on the door handle. "And you sit in the front seat if you don't want to scandalize Sam any more than we already have." Cas leans in to give Dean one last kiss. Dean kisses him back and then shoves him toward the door. "It was your idea to stop, get out before I change my mind." 

Sam turns around when he hears the car door slam shut. The look on his face is carefully blank. "Sam," Cas starts, but he's unsure how to continue.

"Is Dean ok?" Sam asks.

"Yes. Mostly. He's not...we still need to..."

"Are you ok?" 

"What?" Cas asks, surprised.

"I know Dean would never," Sam trails off looking over Cas' shoulder to the car, "but he's not exactly in his right mind."

"Sam," Cas starts, stops, starts again, "This is more difficult than I imagined. Sam, Dean and I need some privacy. To finish...things."

"You and Dean need to...finish things?" 

"If you'd like your brother to not die, yes."

"Is that why you're doing this? So Dean doesn't die?"

"Yes, among other reasons. Sam. Could we revisit this conversation tomorrow? Dean is ok at the moment, but I'm not sure how long that will last."

Sam shifts on his feet uncomfortably, his whole frame reeking of uncertainty. "I just don't like the idea of Dean, I don't know, using you that way."

In spite of the awkwardness of the conversation, Sam's confession fills Cas with fondness. "It's not like that. Please don't worry. Your brother and I have talked. We aren't taking this lightly. It's not my place to talk to you about Dean's feelings, but please know that, for my part, this is not a hardship."

"Ok. Gross. No more talking. I'm taking you both to the motel and then I'm getting my own room. At a different motel. You can call me in the morning."

When they slide into the front seats, Dean lets out a heartfelt, "Thank fuck," and proceeds to lay his head back and fist his hands on his thighs.

Cas turns in his seat, "Dean-"

"Nope. No talking. No talking until we're out of the car. In fact, turn around. No talking. No looking."

The ten-minute drive back to the hotel is quiet and awkward. Cas holds himself rigidly forward but still hears Dean shifting restlessly in the backseat. Sam skids the Impala in front of the hotel. Dean has the door open before the car stops moving. Cas follows quickly with one glance back at Sam. Sam just nods and speeds off, like he can't wait to be miles away. Cas sighs with relief.

Dean pushes Cas toward the motel room door until they are both pressed against it. Dean rifles around in his pocket for the key while simultaneously rutting against Cas. He pulls the key out triumphantly and works the lock open. He pauses with the door open. "Look, Cas, I, I think I just have to get this one over with, ya know? But, I, uh, I want you to know, I'm looking forward to doing this your way. Later."

"My way? What's my way?" Cas asks, curious.

"I'm not sure, but I'm looking forward to finding out," Dean replies with a wink, before he pulls Cas into the motel room and slams the door shut.


End file.
